


Impulse control

by theonlylifeonmarsisme



Category: Macbeth - Fandom, Macbeth - Shakespeare, SHAKESPEARE William - Works
Genre: Fluff, Humour, I don’t usually write this, I’m not funny lol, M/M, This fandom needs some fluff dammit, This is supposed to be romance?, This isn’t a scary boi!, You need to understand?, nobody dies!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:21:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21818845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonlylifeonmarsisme/pseuds/theonlylifeonmarsisme
Summary: On a winters visit to Lochaber, both Macbeth and Banquo reflect on their lives.Written because this pairing needs some fluff.
Relationships: Banquo (Macbeth)/Macbeth, Macbeth/Lady Macbeth
Comments: 17
Kudos: 24





	Impulse control

**Author's Note:**

> I know some people like to write in Shakespeare’s language, but I’m too lazy. So I tried to uh, ‘posh it up’ a bit. Didn’t go fantastically, but at this point, there’s so few fanfics for the fandom you may as well just read it. Try to enjoy it, I did spend quite a long time writing it.

The white tipped mountains of Lochaber had finally come into view. Breathing a sigh of relief, the Thane of Glamis watched his breath in the biting winter air, burrowed his face down further into his furs, and urged his horse to go onwards faster. If not for the reward at the end of his ride, he would seriously question if the long and arduous journey was worth his time. But, inevitably, it was; Macbeth needed to escape from the iron grip of his Lady, the grip that had descended over the estate and, seemingly, Glamis. 

In the heavy aftermath of yet another argument with his wife, she had, with a glare as cold as ice and a voice of steel, ordered him to leave. Burning with shame at the thought of having his guards and servants witness him at the command of his Lady, Macbeth had stolen out one of the many secret passage ways in the castle, paid the young stable boy to keep quiet, and ridden off into the night. And now, days later and the sun beginning to turn downwards, Macbeth had reached the destination his heart yearned for. A destination that he had unconsciously set off for whilst his mind was still racing and his heart raging with anger. 

Banquo. His friend, comrade in arms, and most trusted advisor. 

As Macbeth approached the castle, the guards recognised him and bowed, letting the gates open without the screeching of metal that would greet the Thane of Glamis at his own. As he looked up at the castle, he felt a familiar pang of sadness and longing. The castle was bustling, preparing for the banquet that the Thane of Lochaber was hosting in a few days time. Smoke rose from the chimneys, the offspring of the gently glowing fires inside. Macbeth swore he could smell his favourite dish, but even from the close proximity of the gates, he knew it was impossible; the kind of obscure fish he craved was extremely difficult to find, even in the cold, fresh waters around Lochaber. Unless Banquo knew he was coming, he wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of preparing it. 

As his horse slowly trotted up to the front of the castle, two stable boys of around fourteen came racing around the corner up to him. Wait. One stable boy, and one very scruffy, very disheveled-

“Fleance?” Macbeth spoke with an expression of mild surprise, but had long since past being shocked at the sight of the son of the thane covered in mud and twigs, a strong scent of wet horse and hay drifting off him. 

The young boy grinned sheepishly and waved. 

“Hello Macbeth! Come to visit my father on business again?”

“Well, why else would I be here, my boy?”

Fleance shrugged, but there was a cheeky smile on his face. The stable boy and Fleance’s closest friend, Jack, was standing awkwardly next to the horse, clearly waiting for the conversation to run its course so he could do his job. 

Conscious of the time, Macbeth dismounted the horse and handed the reins to the boy, along with a small amount of gold. It wasn’t as if Banquo didn’t pay his servants well, quite the opposite in fact, but Macbeth recalled that Jack currently had his eye on a young maid called Rosaline, and may want to treat her to a gift of some sort in order to woo her. Jack’s eyes lit up as he smiled and thanked the thane, who responded with a quick wink and a finger to his lips. 

“Not a word to the other boys, Jack. That includes you too, Fleance.”

Fleance rolled his eyes and Jack laughed. 

“Yes, Beth, keep quiet and all that.”

“Who on this good earth said you could call me- that name is not to grace your tongue- oh, forget about it.”

Macbeth sighed with exasperation as the two youths ran off into the mist, his horse neighing excitedly. Brushing some stray dirt and hopefully imaginary mud, he made his way to the front entrance, more than ready to down a glass of whiskey and rant to his best friend about his woes. Nodding to the servant who opened the door, he paused for a second as warm air flowed over him and the smells of cooking intruded on his senses, before striding purposefully down the hallway to the kitchens. Opening the double doors, he was immediately hit again with the smells of meat roasting, sauces boiling and the exotic Eastern spices that Banquo so enjoyed. The cooks and servants greeted him, some bowing, but most acknowledging his uncomfortable feelings towards being treated too differently because of his status. The head cook, a strict, slightly plump but kind woman, paused from the kneading of dough to prod a floury finger at his ribs, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“Macbeth. Have you been eating enough lately or have you once again been neglecting your food?”

Macbeth smiled sheepishly, feeling a lot like Fleance had done just a few minutes ago. 

“I can assure you it’s not deliberate, my dear Betty. Simply a matter of forgetfulness.”

Betty looked sceptical.

“More a matter of working yourself too hard. Honestly, if I didn’t have an eye on you two twenty four seven, I would have fully expected at least one of you to have wasted away by now.”

At this, a cheerful kitchen maid spoke up from where you was slicing vegetables.

“Oh come off it, Betty, they’re hardly twigs. If they were that thin, we wouldn’t have those muscles to look at, would we girls?”

A chorus of agreements from the kitchen made Macbeth blush and Betty to swat his arm with a towel. She jerked her head over to the corner of the room.

“He’s over there, sticking his nose into the spices again. I swear if he inhales that chilli powder like he did last time-“

Macbeth smiled gleefully, recalling how Banquo had been a little too eager to sample a new spice he was gifted, resulting in him sneezing out the light orange powder in his nose for days. 

“I’ll make sure to restrain him, Betty.”

“Mmm. Off you go then, I’m a busy woman and I don’t have time for- hands off the cakes you thieving-!”

Macbeth laughed as he swiped an iced cake off a tray on one of the many side counters, stuffing it into his mouth and darting around Betty’s hands that were more than capable of boxing his ears. 

Chewing happily, he made his way over to where Betty had directed him, greeting the staff and swiping more ingredients off the counters. Banquo never passed up on an opportunity to hang around the kitchens, and it was now custom that if Macbeth couldn’t find him, this was now the first place he went looking. As he reached the spice corner, a young girl of about seventeen noticed him and shushed him silently, brown eyes wide and excited. Parishka had been offered a place at Banquo’s household after she had snuck aboard a British ship with her family to escape a war raging in the north of her home country. Not much was yet known about her mysterious country, and Parishka has been on the receiving end of many the ill intended insult, but she had bravely faced it and was continuing to support her family however she could. 

Macbeth nodded to her instructions and crept over. A familiar blonde head was bent over a large cooking pot, the steam making his hair flatten ever so slightly. As the figure straightened up, he nearly whacked his head on a beam over head, but carried on unconcerned.

“This is exquisite, Parishka. The fiery understones and rich taste- I don’t know how you do it- is this an old spice, or one of our new ones?”

Parishka smiled proudly. 

“An old one, sir, but a family recipe my mother gave me. She said that she has come to trust you enough to gift you her grandmothers recipe.”

Banquo looked touched. Blonde hair falling in front of his face, he took both of her hands in his and bowed.

“Please tell your mother that I am deeply honoured to receive her gift of trust.”

Parishka nodded shyly, but a small dash of colour crept up her cheeks. 

“I most definitely will, sir. But at the moment, I think there’s someone who’s waiting to see you.”

Banquo turned to where Macbeth was standing, and a look of great joy and excitement came across his face. 

“Macbeth! My worthy thane, what a pleasing surprise!”

Macbeth instantly felt his tension and anger leave him. Banquo only had to cast his gaze upon him to make him feel at home. 

“I’m sorry to arrive here of such short notice; in fact, no notice at all, but my wife-“

Macbeth’s voice cracked embarrassingly. Banquo nodded sympathetically. Walking over to his friend, he put an arm round his shoulders and guided him through the kitchen. 

“Shall we talk in some more privacy, my thane?”

“A good idea, Banquo. Also, after a delightful encounter earlier, I must request that you please ask your son to refrain from calling me Beth?”

Banquo’s blue eyes sparkled mischievously.

“Now, where on earth could he be getting that name from, my dear Beth?”

Macbeth elbowed him in the stomach, which was easier said than done, considering that Banquo was the great height of six feet and eight inches. Banquo had a talent of making anyone feel short, and even Macbeth, who proudly stood at six feet and three inches, sometimes felt a little bit small around his companion. 

But that didn’t matter. For now, he had his confidant and friend, and just as importantly, the suggestion of a good bottle of whisky.

____________

Two hours later, and the pair could only be described as thoroughly drunk. Having retreated to Banquo’s private study, the conversation had started off with Macbeth venting his worries to Banquo about his wife, about how the grip she seemed to have upon his life, how he felt he was failing as a thane. Banquo has listened to him, offered advice, and broken out the whisky. Now, three bottles later, Banquo was draped elegantly on the chaise lounge, platinum hair sticking up all over the place, and Macbeth was sprawled on the floor, furs still somehow immaculate. Both men were laughing hysterically, at what, neither had any idea. 

Mid-laugh, Macbeth suddenly fell silent. Banquo looked up, concerned. 

“Beth? Are you feeling well?”

Macbeth nodded, but a regretful look had settled on his face. 

“Do I not bother you, Banquo? Showing up at your home unexpectedly, stealing from your kitchens, drinking all your whisky and then expecting you to listen to all my pathetically irrelevant problems? I feel like I would certainly bother myself.”

Banquo shook his head vehemently, waving a lazy hand at him. 

“Do not speak of such nonsense. I’ll have to have you escorted off the premises. Is this not what friends do? Listen to each other’s problems, no matter how irrelevant they may seem? Enjoy the finest drinks together, and of course, share culinary delights? After all, you were the one who introduced me to those spices.”

Macbeth felt a faint smile cross his lips as he watched his best friend defend his behaviour. 

“Macbeth, you are always welcome in my household. It’s not just my home, it’s your home as well. I know how much you dislike your own estate. I only wish that you did not have to suffer such loneliness in your own castle.”

There was a silence. Not an uncomfortable one, simply one of quiet reflection. The fire crackled in the hearth, and the room was cast in a warm glow. Outside, the wind was beginning to howl, rain spattering on the glass of the windows. The storm had begun.

Banquo let out a shout of surprise as he felt a hand grab his sleeve and pull him to the floor. Landing rather ungracefully on his front, he lifted his head off the floor to glare accusingly at a laughing Macbeth, who was looking right back at him, eyebrows raised as if to say what did I do?

“You know full well what you did.”

“My dear Banquo, I never said a word!”

“No, but I’ve known you for enough years to understand what you’re thinking at any given time of day!”

Macbeth started laughing again, and was promptly hit around the head by Banquo, who, despite trying to maintain angry composure, felt a small smile tugging at his lips. 

How is it that one who seemed to carry so much pain and solitude in his heart could have the most genuine laugh of any man Banquo had ever met?

_____________

Banquo was lying asleep in his bed when he heard the screaming. 

Jolted awake by the piercing sound, he immediately reached for his sword and leapt to his feet, running towards the door. In the hallways, his guards were just as anxious, weapons ready to strike. The screaming stopped, replaced by what sounded like sharp, short wheezing, then replaced by moans of pain.

Banquo suddenly deflated. 

“At ease, men. I’ll deal with it.”

His younger guards eyed each other nervously, but the older ones simply raised their eyebrows and took up their positions again. 

“Are you sure, my lord?”

Banquo nodded grimly.

“I am quite certain. Return to your posts.”

“Yes sir!”

Banquo, stifling a yawn, walked quickly down the hallway to where he knew Macbeth was sleeping. It wasn’t a long walk, only a few hallways away, but by the time he got there, what sounded like cries of pain had turned into what sounded like outright crying. Reaching his friends chambers, he rapped sharply on the door.

“Macbeth? May I come in?”

Not waiting for an answer, Banquo opened the door and stepped in the room, closing and locking it behind him. If this turned out anything like last time, he did not want anyone entering or leaving the room.

“Macbeth?”

The room was completely in darkness. The lone candle that stood on the desk had been extinguished, wisps of smoke still rising. The wind was howling, rattling the windows as the rain pelted down on the glass. A crackle of thunder and then a flash of lightning. 

Banquo tightened his grip on his sword. 

“Macbeth, answer me.”

“It’s cold in here.”

Banquo breathed a sigh of relief. Good. It appeared that no attempted stabbing would occur today. Addressing the darkened room, he spoke;

“Seriously? And that was why you woke up half the castle by screaming like the devil had materialised in front of you?”

A forced laugh from Macbeth. Was he standing by the window? 

“Oh, I’ve seen the devil. We both have. Shaken his hand.”

“Macbeth. What is this about?”

An intake of breath.

“You know already, Banquo.”

A pause.

“Are you alone, Banquo?”

Banquo nodded, then remembered Macbeth probably couldn’t see him.

“Yes.”

The air suddenly changed from tension to relief.

“Are you kidding? I thought you had your guards with you? Why else would I have gone to such lengths to act so... abnormal?”

Banquo laughed and put his sword down. 

“Well, I thought it would be interesting to see what you would do this time to get me on my own. It was a weak beginning, but certainly progressed-“

“Oh, silence.”

The candles were lit, casting the room in a golden glow.

“And you did try to stab one of my guards once, so I have been using that to my advantage-“

“What did I just say?”

“So no visions did plague you this night, dear Beth?”

Banquo suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. 

“Only visions that I would wish to see, Banquo.”

He turned around to see the gently smiling face on his friend, green eyes crinkled in mirth. Macbeth’s long black hair was still somehow immaculate. Banquo was suddenly filled with an overwhelming desire to run his hand through it. And, because the thane of Lochaber was not well known for his impulse control, he did just that. 

Macbeth froze for a second as he felt his best friend comb his fingers through his hair. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just very unexpected. 

“Banquo? What are you doing?”

Banquo pulled his hand away like he’d been burned.

“I’m... not entirely sure, Beth.”

“Well... you can keep doing it. I have no abjection towards it.”

As Banquo once again ran his fingers through his friends soft hair, Macbeth closed his eyes. As Banquo’s fingers brushed the base of his neck, Macbeth shuddered and placed his own hand on top of his friends. Banquo felt another pang if sadness. Whenever he was around his friend, all he seemed to feel from him was an inexplicable sadness. Was it something to do with Lady Macbeth, and the way she treated her husband?

“Macbeth?”

Those forest green eyes opened wide in curious response.

“Yes, Banquo?”

The next words were spoken as a whisper, barely heard above the wind and the lashing of rain. 

“I seem to have been overwhelmed by an immense desire to kiss you.”

Silence over took them. 

A rumble of thunder. 

Banquo began to retract his hand, only to be grabbed by his shirt collar and pulled towards his friend. Macbeth’s eyes searched him desperately.

And, because the thane of Glamis wasn’t known for his impulse control either;

“Then kiss me.”


End file.
